


Drunken Ramblings

by towblerone



Series: AC Imagines Request Fics [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towblerone/pseuds/towblerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham gets more than a little drunk and someone has to calm him down. That someone would be you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Ramblings

Normally, Haytham held his liquor quite well. Keyword: normally.

Tonight, he seemed to have let himself go. You didn't know exactly how many drinks he'd had, nor what kind, but whatever he had and however much, it was enough to make him slur his words and unsteady his walk.

He had been particularly stressed lately. You could understand that. He was, after all, the Grandmaster of the Templar Order, and he had a mountain of responsibilities. Managing it's members, their operations, and just about every aspect of the Order was a difficult task for just one man.

But you had begun to suspect that the problem lied outside of the Order. Perhaps his frustration was with his son.

He confided in you just about everything. He trusted you, and you him. You had been a good friend to Haytham for many years, but you had always inwardly questioned whether or not you and Haytham were, or could be, more than that. You had no business, or nerve for that matter, to even think about discussing it with him, and you weren't even sure if you wanted that; but the question was afloat nonetheless.

Back to the matter at hand: his son, Connor. You'd never met him before, but judging from what Haytham told you, he wasn't always the easiest person to get along with. Haytham always maintained his cool demeanor, but Connor brought out the worst in him. Whether or not he admitted it.

Haytham slapped down a few pounds and ordered the bartender to bring him more drinks, but you swiped the money from the table and shook your head at the bartender, who nodded his head in understanding.

"Come on, Haytham," you say, "that's enough for tonight, let's get you home."

"I don't want to go."

"It wasn't a question."

"You can't make me." Lord, he got so childish when he was drunk. You roll up your sleeves in preparation.

"I bet you I can," you say, and hook your hands around his bicep. With a gentle tug, he easily came out of his chair, but toppled to the ground. Sighing, you do your best to pick the heavy man off the ground and herd him out the door.

\--

On the way to his residence, he'd muttered angrily. You were correct, in your earlier assumption, that it was about Connor.

"He's so stupid," he said with a hiccup. "How...how are we even related?"

"Come now, Haytham, Everyone's got their strengths, and everyone's got their weaknesses." You wanted to say 'including you' but you weren't sure it was a good idea. Not that he'd remember this tomorrow.

You reached Haytham's home and had to let him slump to the ground as you opened the door.

"No, he's all weakness," he growled under his breath. Rolling your eyes, you held onto his arm and pulled him back onto his unsteady feet.

"Haytham, he's your son," you chastise him, "and you barely know him. From what you've told me, you only met him a few months ago."

Why were you having this conversation with a drunken man who wouldn't remember this tomorrow?

"What-" he hiccuped, "-what difference does that make?"

You heaved him up the staircase

"Well," you say, your voice lowering with the effort it's taking to haul his drunken ass up the stairs, "he's lived his entire life up to this point without a father."

"So?"

"So, he may have had an idea of who you were, and when you met him, you may not have lived up to it."

Haytham went silent as you reached the top of the stairs and turned to his bedroom. The door had been left open, presumably by himself this morning, which was fortunate for you. You wouldn't have to juggle with handling him and the doorknob.

Shuffling into the bedroom with Haytham almost completely limp in your arms was definitely not an easy task, but you got it done. You wrestled him out of his jacket and flew down the staircase and hung it on the coat hook. Walking into the kitchen, you find a tea kettle filled with water - now cold. You fill a glass with some of the water and bring it upstairs.

When you enter his room, he is sitting upright, to your surprise.

"You should get some sleep, Haytham." You say as you place the water on his bedside table, and as you turn to leave, a hand catches your own.

"Wait," he says, "stay with me."

"Oh, Haytham, I'm not sure that's a good-"

"Just for a moment."

You weren't sure how to felt about this. He really should be getting some rest. Alcohol is not kind to the body. But he had always been a good friend to you. He'd saved your neck, both figuratively and literally, on several occasions. Then again, if anyone found out, they may get the wrong idea about the two of you.

But no. You trusted him.

"Alright, I'll stay," you said, and sat on the bed next to him. You make sure to keep a few inches between you as you sit silently, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

He sat quietly, then inhaled and spoke, his voice sounding completely sobered.

"He's so naive," he said softly.

"How so?"

"He's an assassin. I mean, they actually believe that complete freedom will actually bring peace, for god's sake!" he said, his voice raising.

"I'm sure he's just doing what he believes is best, Haytham," you say, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"But he doesn't understand!" He cried. Haytham turns to look into your eyes, and you can see genuine concern in them.

"You care for him."

It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. His face didn't change, but you could tell he couldn't argue with what you'd said.

"I worry about him.," Haytham says. "He..."

"He what?"

"He's all I've got left of her." A sorrowful look flashes across his face, but it's gone in a flash.

Of Ziio. You feel a pang of jealousy, but push it back. You have no right to feel that way about him, who's been nothing but respectful to you, and a good friend. This wasn't about what you wanted. It was about reassuring your friend.

"Haytham, if you just try to understand his side of things, maybe your relationship will improve."

Haytham looks into your eyes again, and you feel your throat getting tighter. His eyes are so breathtaking.

"Do you really think so?" he said to you with a small smile. "Is that possible?"

"Anything's possible, you just need to try."

He broke eye contact and stared into his hands for a moment. You would have given every cent you had to know what was going through his mind at that moment. Finally, he spoke again.

"You're right. I haven't exactly been the best father to him. I should try harder."

"I know I'm right," you say, pretending to be cocky. He chuckled at your sarcasm. Glad that his spirits were raised, you stand.

"Now, get some rest. You're going to have a terrible headache in the morning."

As you turned to leave, he stood from the bed as well. He towered over you, but you were not afraid.

His arms encircled your waist and pull you taut against him, and you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. He leans down and dips his head so that you are eye to eye with him.

"Haytham?" He says nothing, only leans closer, clearly aiming for your lips. He exhales, and you can smell the ale.

The ale. That smell snapped you out of the trance he's put you in.

Haytham is drunk. He doesn't know what he's doing.

"I...should go," you say, pulling away from him, and risking a glance at his disappointed face. God, his face made you want to stop, made you want to run back to his arms and let him finish what he was going to do. But he was drunk, and it wouldn't be fair to him for you to take advantage of that.

Walking down the stairs as quickly and calmly as you can, you reach the door. You hesitate to open the door. This was your last chance to turn back...

No. This was the right choice. You would not let his charm overwrite the fact that he was inebriated and his judgement was impaired.

You were leaving.

And you would always regret it.


End file.
